My boredum and dislike of editing has gotten the best of me
this is a character I made up last night--her name is Princess Arune Iznara--she's not really a princess, everyone just calls her that. Shes from my new project that is yet in the concept stages. I'll give you the first few pages becuase i like you guys.
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Arune Iznara, who spoke light into the world—that only she could see. They called her little princess, or princess Arune—sometimes it was just princess. Her father was a well-known, well-respected Company Official. She, having been the first born, would have been the one to carry on the family name—having been born without proper sight this was ruled to be unacceptable. And so she would be married off to one of the brothers, Azriel, or Morumone Amaruway—the former being nearly twice her age and the later being a whole year her junior. It was more than likely to be Azriel—as society would frown upon a man with a wife of an age greater than his.
The world was dark—there was no morning—there was no sun. Fascinating creatures grew in the shadowed places, and the woods were no more than a wild overgrowth. The people hid with their electrics buzzing in the caves and underground cities. Arune knew no light at all—she was blind and her eyes gleamed a pure milk white that was disrupted only when she fell beneath the starlight of the open air—a stealthy flash of iridescence would steal its way across the milk of her iris.
Now there was the matter of her marriage, if one were to ask the servants who it was that she did indeed prefer of the two boys they might smile and point you in the direction of the upper world. There would be found the young princess with her hair up in an elegant mix of buns and braided ties with a silver crown piece nestled in the center. She’d be wearing a long white dress that fastened high on her neck with lace and an opal choke. The second layer form the top would be a pink vest that would cover the open back of her elegant dress—and lastly to cover her would be the long black jacket fastened with only one button high near her lace collar. She wouldn’t be decorated with any sleeves, it would be late summer and much to warm to wear this facets.
Near her there might be a young man—a tall young man with pale yellow hair. His hair would be long and layered as was customary for the men in his house he would hold a misty sea green in his eyes. The shirt he wore would be a of a pale, thin material and it would go down passed his waist with a tie holding it in to his form. His pants in contrast would be dyed a dark blue.
Her words would be rarely heard, she was a quiet soft propriety, preferring to listen rather than speak. He would be well spoken and graceful but would choose to enjoy his peace while he had it. And they would sit listening to the world around them. She might wonder vaguely why everyone thought the world outside was such a bad place and he would run his fingers over the coarse wild grass and wish she could see it too.
Most blind people, I find, are very rooted in their ground. They refuse to let control of their movements to another—but Arune, she found wonder in being light of foot. Morumone would only encourage her wilder whims, letting her lead him barefoot thought the spiraling overgrowth. Laughing all the way he would talk to no one in particular about how he would take the direction of a little blind girl over the advise of a fierce warrior any day. She would never get lost, knowing every footstep by heart, having every inch committed to memory. She might have to hold her skirt up with one hand to keep it from dragging (which it would do anyway) pulling Morumone alone by the wrist.
When they did finally make it to the little stream they had come to call their own he might say something about how he would miss this someday or he might just smile and let his feet sink into the bank while she lifted the front of her skirt and stepped forward. The back of her dress would drag and be soaked into the freezing water and the tails of her long coat would slowly sink into the chilled stream.
It was on one of these peaceful evenings that she turned her ears to him and asked, “Mori, what do you think it’ll be like?” she was, of course, referring to marriage, as she was coming upon the eve of her seventeenth birthday and he his sixteenth.
“What do I think what will be like?” he yawned, flopping down on the white powder sand.
“Marriage,” she clarified as she stepped out onto the white bank.
“I don’t know,” he took a moment, “I hope its nothing like the way your parents are.”
“That would be awful,” she deadpanned, “ I think my father is the only one who doesn’t know that Yevayne is sleeping with the whole guard.”
“I’m to young to think about this,” he quipped with another yawn as he stretched out on the white powder.
She took a quiet moments, casting her sightless gaze at the water lapping at her feet, “You’re lucky then—you still have a year or so to think about it.”
“Oh, come on now, it takes at least a year to plan a high class wedding, and you wont be getting a formal proposal for at least a year.”
“Oh?” she asked rather than said.
“He heaved a great sigh and forced his body into sitting again, “I may or may not have been listening close to the library and heard some light discussion about dowry.”
“You may have?” she laughed.
“I may have,” he snorted in response, “Hey, it’s my business too—I’m in the running to be a suitor as well you know?”
“Like I’d accept a proposal from you,” she scoffed, kicking up some white dust in his general direction.
“Hey.” He sprang from his spot on the bank to throw her back into the stream. She fell, pulling him with her and so they both landed splashed and soaked and laughing on the muddy floor. There was a hail of laughing, in fact, as the little princess landed on her back with the handsome young man right on top of her. Her hands fell out to the side, and his braced on either side of her head. His elbows gave out quickly and his head smashed into her shoulder with a muffled cry, “I wish it were me.”
At this she stopped laughing and let her hand find its way to his back, “As do I.”
“Best be careful—wouldn’t want someone else to find you like that, lest the little princess acquire her mothers reputation,” a deep, resonating voice called from the tree line.
“Aeros!” she called, for Arune knew all things by sound and sound alone.
“What’re you doing out this way?” Morumone would ask with a smile as he helped his little princess back to her feet.
“The lord Azriel was asking about you the last time I was up in Merxion,” Aeros smiled in return. He was a tall formidable man, with defined features and a guard uniform adorning his handsome shape.
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